Buck Fever

When Randy was just a young feller, as soon as he was big enough to get through the brush and over the rocks I took him hunting with me. Back in those days I liked to hunt about as much as Randy does now. A few times I had to head him off and turn him in the right direction because his automatic compass wasn't working too good, but that soon began to clear up. When hunting time came around I didn't have to coax him to go with me. We sometimes took horses along or just drove out with our camp in the pickup. Randy started packing that old 30-30 as soon as he was big enough to reach the trigger and I sawed the stock off 3 inches to boot.

One fall we went up LaVerkin Creek and early Saturday morning worked up Horse Canyon. The going was rough and steep and all we saw was a few does. To the east stood the ridge that created Horse Canyon, its upper end blending into the high mountain side about 2/3 of the way to the crest. As we neared the upper end, sun rays from over lower Kolob were striking the tops of Black Ridge mountain. Just above us Horse Canyon turned directly west into the side of the higher ridge. We climbed up on a rise that overlooked the canyon end. Below us near the bottom of the draw, about 100 yards distance, stood a big buck, broadside. I whispered to Randy; "Shoot him!" My eyes were riveted on the buck.

I heard a muffled sound from Randy's direction. Any second that rifle would crack and the buck would keel over. One, two, three, four seconds. "Hurry. Shoot," I whispered. I expected that buck to go bounding off through the trees any instant. Nothing happened. No roar of gunfire like I was waiting for. Finally I tore my eyes off the buck and looked over at Randy. There he stood, looking down the hillside at the buck, the rifle held in front of him at about a 45 degree angle, his right hand working the lever action. All the bullets lay out there on the ground.

"Good griefus, what `you doing?" His eyes were somewhat glazed and his breath was coming fast. I looked back at the buck. He was headed up through the trees on a trot. I could shoot pretty good in those days. Sometimes after a period of good luck I'd get to thinking I was a second Daniel Boone or "punt-near" as good. I raised that old 308 and squeezed the trigger. Sure enough, I was in luck today.

We got a big laugh out of Randy's antics. He really thought that buck was going to fall down and die. He didn't realize what he was doing. We went over and gutted the buck out and hung him on the north side of a big tree. It was a clean shot and a nice piece of meat. We hunted on up the side of the main ridge to the north. I can't remember if we got any more shooting, but if we did, no luck came with it. We hauled the buck out the next day. Randy was always a good hunting partner and fun to be with. Now days he shoots them quick and if I'm lucky I can watch how it's done.